Grief taught me to find meaning in the fragility of life.
One of the best parts of having financial freedom is getting to stay in bed a while longer after I wake up feeling dead inside.
A single dream can have such a profound impact on my reality after regaining consciousness in the morning. That alternate universe brings about feelings of sadness and loss that had subsided, and injects them into the present.
Life has a funny way of humbling me sometimes.
My older brother died three years ago, and I didn’t get to have a say in it. Helplessness was a feeling I knew all too well from the time I was sixteen years old as I watched my dad take his last dying breath.
Over the years from the deaths of loved ones (including pets), I have determined that grief is the loneliest feeling in the human experience.
We all grieve loss, just on different timelines. It doesn’t necessarily happen in the same way across the board either—like love, the complexity of these particular segments is ineffable.
It wasn’t until my brother died did I begin witnessing others’ inability to show up for me in the way I needed them to.
And that was perfectly okay.
I was also shocked to find out that offers to “be there if I needed anything” came with an expiration date. There were times I felt frozen while everyone else had moved on.
This inadvertently led to my learning how to meet my own emotional needs, and in a way, also helped me to grow stronger as a person. I figured out how to endure these painful experiences on my own two feet, and that’s one hell of a feat.
While deeming grief as the loneliest feeling we go through, I would say that I never felt lonely while I was alone on my healing journey. Surprisingly, loneliness would only materialize in the presence of other people because of the disconnectedness that ensued.
I found myself slowly withdrawing from some connections after discovering that many people are unequipped to show empathy and understanding. Whether it was from choosing not to or simply stemmed from inexperience, that wasn’t important to me.
All I knew was that I lost the enthusiasm to invest my time and energy into places that no longer served me.
And yes, you guessed it:
That was perfectly okay.
Like the ocean, grief ebbs and flows from day to day. On the days when the waves are at their tallest, I distance myself from social interactions in order to take care of me in the best way I know how.
Solitude has naturally become my go-to place to be in.
I appreciate the slow mornings of my current lifestyle. I recognize the luxury of getting to lay in bed for an extra hour if I want to—having agency over how I choose to spend my time is a godsend.
I had always hated having to go out into the world with a brave face even though I was in pieces on the inside. I feel grateful for getting to eliminate the masks that I used to wear on a daily basis.
Seriously, there is no worse place than a professional setting of having to compartmentalize the negative aspects of your day.
Nobody is immune to pain and loss; it doesn’t discriminate against the rich or poor.
It’s essential to remember that all low points are inevitable and are not mutually exclusive to you; negative emotions are etched into our human experience.
Don’t be afraid to make changes that will help you achieve the optimal emotional health for your full enjoyment of this journey we share together.
I used to hold onto things and people, but all it did was wear me down and cause burnout. Practicing detachment and accepting letting go allows my time and energy to gravitate towards what I value.
This has done wonders for my fulfillment in life. You will find that developing a strong desire for self-care will lead to a natural reallocation of your resources.
Life has a mysterious way of sorting itself out—all you have to do is let it.
